Author's Note: This is a prequel to both "Lady in Powder Blue" and "Gentleman in Navy Blue" I have decided to refer to this as the Blue series for obvious reasons. Thanks to many on CaerAzkaban for assistance with this work. This will most likely be a two parter, but I can't say when the next part will be ready. Consider the posting of this part my Christmas gift to those who keep wondering if there is more to the series.

Lad in Queen's Blue

Harry Potter was not entirely sure how he had ended up outside Windsor Castle a couple weeks after he'd left Hogwarts, the summer after his fourth year. Normally the Dursley's didn't take him anywhere. They were attending something at Eton regarding Dudley's school. What Smellings, as Harry liked to refer to his cousin's school, in his own mind only, of course, had to do with Eton did not bear thinking. He'd been dropped off just before they were to cross the Thames, and had wandered South, ending up on a bench outside of the castle, not even looking towards it.

He'd been fortunate that Gringotts had told him that his account could be accessed through Lloyds, so he'd been able to withdraw a bit of money for pizza and maybe getting a souvenir or something. In his hand was a copy of the Daily Prophet, obtained from a discreet stand next to the bank. It was spelled so no muggle could tell that it was different. He was not happy with what he was reading.

They were portraying him as a delusional idiot. What they were saying about Professor Dumbledore was worse. There was nothing about Voldemort being back. There was a big article about Minister Fudge "improving the ministry" and a Diagon Ally renovation project. Harry hoped that at least the sports section would be good.

"So just how bad was the score at the Cannons' game?"

Harry looked up to discover a blond boy dressed in a blue jumper and a pair of blue jeans.

"Cannons?" Harry inquired. He wasn't sure how to respond to that. He was out in public, not in the wizarding world. Of course, if he was in the wizarding world right now they'd probaby call him deranged ... just like the Dursleys said he was.

"Chudley, they had a game against Caerphilly last night," the boy said. "Beatrice had the Prophet this morning so I couldn't find out and get the score."

"Thirty-two hundred forty to one seventy," Harry said, checking the box score. "Cannons scored on two penalties and Gibbons caught the snitch."

"Only good player on the team, but don't tell my father that," the boy said, as he sat down on the bench beside Harry. "He seems to think they're on the verge of winning."

"My friend Ron says that all the time," Harry replied. "He's insane about them. He even painted his room orange."

"Grandmother wouldn't let father do that," the boy shrugged. "Historic buildings, so I don't know why he asked. My team's the Catapults, so I get to tease father about his loss. My little brother likes the Falcons. What's your team?"

"It will be all over Britain if anyone finds out, but I like the Magpies," Harry replied, before muttering, "Stupid Witch Weekly." After finding the May ninth issue in his third year, Harry had developed a hatred for the publication.

"It can't be that bad." The boy moved to look Harry more directly in his eyes. "The only way you'd have worse privacy issues than my family is if you were the Boy-Who..."

"...Lived," Harry concluded in a put upon tone, "Harry Potter, at your service."

"Prince William, at yours," the boy replied. "Please don't tell me that you've got a problem with photographers like I do."

"In my own dorm," Harry replied. "Guy a year behind me, Colin, can't seem to put away his camera. He's gotten a little better since his first year, and to be honest, since the camera did save his life, I can see why he keeps it with him ..."

"The flashes in the dorms are always the worst," William replied. "I mean, you go to your dorm to relax, get away from the stress, and suddenly you're on display again."

"Sometimes I feel like slamming the door to escape him," Harry said.

"I think one of my uncles did that, once," William said. "It didn't go well. Nothing ever goes well when someone in the press decided that your troubles are national news."

"Tell me about it," Harry said, looking around. "Ever have the press get a hold of a failed essay?"

"Not yet," William replied. "So far the bargain that my parents stuck with the press has at least kept my essays out of the tabloids."

"You're lucky," Harry replied, looking down at his feet. "You've got them to protect you. I don't have anyone."

"Well, maybe we can help," William said, standing, and pulling Harry up to join him. "But first, I came out here to get pizza, care to join me?"

"If you ever have a choice of what to order at one of my grandmother's places, don't order pizza," William said, before taking another bite from the small pizza he'd ordered. His was Italian sausage with extra cheese. Harry had chosen pepperoni and mushrooms on his. "It will put you off pizza for months. I swear cardboard tastes better."

"I doubt I'll ever have the opportunity," Harry replied. He rarely got an opportunity to have pizza, especially fresh from the oven. In fact it had been about five years since he'd had warm pizza. It was a lot better than he remembered.

"Well, given what she's arranged today, I think you will," William said, as a piece of sausage fell of his pizza and on to his jumper. At Harry's puzzled look, he continued, "Most of us sneak out of the castle sometime, but this is the first time I've done it with official approval." He picked up the sausage on his jumper and ate it. "Dad gets caught easier than the rest of us, even Grandmother gets away without the press or anyone making a lot of fuss better, and her picture is all over."

"On the contrary, I find that putting on a leather jacket does wonders to let me get away," said a man in a black leather jacket with a matching leather beret and a distinctive nose , as he bent over the table that William and Harry. "You were expected back fifteen minutes ago, Wils."

"Can I finish my pizza?" William asked.

"We have a little more time," Prince Charles stated. "I ordered a few to go. Someone let it out that they were getting to have pizza."

"Did you have to wear the leathers?" William asked as his father sat down beside him.

"It was either that or the tie-dyed shirt," Charles said. "Mother preferred this choice."

"Grandmother preferred the leather?" William said, shaking his head.

As Harry Potter walked through Windsor Castle, he couldn't help but looking around at the painting, and the ornate ceilings. As he managed to trip on the edge of a carpet, he muttered. "I feel like a first year again."

"What was that Harry?" William asked as he lead Harry through a maze of one ornate chamber or hall to another.

"Looking at this place, it's like my first year at Hogwarts, where everything was so new to me. Even now, after four years, I still find something new every once in a while, especially after the castle decides to shift. It's not the same as first year, though."

"Yes, when you live with this stuff, it kind of becomes normal," William said. "Then someone will say something like if you should be horsing around on a Regency sofa, and you realize the piece of furniture you just jumped on might actually be one purchase under the last King William. It's kind of strange sometimes."

"Living in Castles is strange," Harry remarked. "I mean, Windsor is on a different level from Hogwarts, but it's nothing like the Dursley's."

Even when the Queen was not in her formal attire, or even best attire, it was clear that she was the Queen. Harry wasn't quite sure what it was that conveyed the feeling to him. True, it wasn't likely that anyone else would be sitting behind the desk than the Queen. But he was sure that he would have know it was her, even if she wasn't busy going through some boxes, in fact, he was sure that he would have been able to point Her Majesty out even if someone had knocked his glasses off.

William cleared his throat, but the Queen finished reading her current paper and placed it back in the box before looking up at her grandson.

"Your Majesty, may I present Harry James Potter of Surrey, who comes to us from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, having recently witnessed the resurrection of the so-called Dark Lord Voldemort," William announced, as if he was imitating a particularly stuffy court official.

"Mister Potter, please, come and be seated," the Queen said, her head slightly inclined to indicate one of the two chairs in front of her desk. "William, did your father get the sausage pizza?"

"Yes, ma'am," William replied.

"Retrieve a piece for me," the Queen ordered, as Harry sat down in the indicated chair. William exited the room, leaving Harry alone with her. It was only then that he noticed the wand, just as she picked it up. "Mister Potter, we find our recent readings of magical periodicals lead us to worry about our magical subjects. Normally we have been content to let the Ministries handle governance. The actions of the current Minister of Magic, and the words of the ministry mouth piece, the Daily Prophet. In particular we find it troublesome that the Sunday Prophet maligned a private subject, namely yourself, with the scandalmongering headline of 'The-Boy-Who-Lies,' this week.

"As the Prophet admits that you were unavailable to them for a comment, understandable given that you are a student, not a public figure, we wish to ascertain for our selves as to recent events, as witnessed by yourself. Are you familiar with a pensive?"

"I am, Your Majesty," Harry replied, as the Queen summoned the metal dish from across the room, silently. "Or at least I know what they are. I've never put a memory in one though."

"You have your wand?" the Queen asked. Harry nodded, pulling it out from his sleeve. "Place it on your temple and concentrate on the memory. We wish to witness your latest encounter with the wizard who calls himself Lord Voldemort from when you first touched the cup until your escape. Bring the whole memory to mind. Now let gently pull the memory and you wand away from your temple. Hold it to your wand until it is over the surface of the pensieve and let it drop away.

"Good, now join us in your memory ..."